


tides always change

by faithlethalhane



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 17:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3389744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faithlethalhane/pseuds/faithlethalhane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Carmilla ficlet? where carmilla is self conscious about undressing in front of Laura (or vice versa whatever)</p>
            </blockquote>





	tides always change

There’s a reason you’re so thrown when Carmilla storms in and brushes past Perry and LaFontaine like they’re literally not even there. There’s a reason your mouth almost drops open as she so casually and unabashedly slips her shirt off, all three of you staring on.

It's simple, really.

You  _lived_  with her and you’d never seen her even partially naked. She either 1) changed in the bathroom after a shower 2) changed while  _you_ were in the bathroom showering, or 3) quite literally just kept her clothes on while she slept and into the next day.

Now you realize you should’ve known why she’d done it. The tough girl cool and disaffected front. The  _she’s so badass she literally has no shame jesus she’s a force to be reckoned with_  reputation she always worked so hard to maintain.

Didn’t make the moment any more staggering.

So when your eyes lingered just a little bit you told yourself it was out of curiousity. You can’t be blamed if something new is just sitting right in front of you without any reason to say you  _shouldn’t_  look.

Just an excuse, you know, but one that kept you satisfied and not questioning anything at all for…a good long while.

But after that, you paid attention to her. Noted every time she slipped into the bathroom, head bowed and eyes averted. Noted every time you emerged from brushing your teeth to find her in sweatpants she hadn’t had before.

The first time she changes in front of just you, it’s because Perry’s in your bathroom and she comes home from a party reeking of alcohol and sweat and you can tell she’s almost neausiated from her  _own_  smell. She drops her keys on her bookshelf with an overly loud clash of metal, grabs a balled up shirt from the floor, swipes some sweatpants from the top of the bed, and turns for the bathroom. She freezes mid-step at the sight of the closed door.

She glances to you and you sink further into pretending to write your paper. 

She stands there for a really long time. Just staring at the door and clutching the clothes in her fist.

You see her give in when she sighs heavily, shoulders sagging. She looks at you once more (you can just  _feel_  her stare burning into the side of your face) before she turns her back to you and drops the clothes to the bed once more.

She hesitates for a moment, fingers wrapped around the hem of her shirt but not pulling up. Considering if she’s doing the right thing, maybe.

And then she pulls up with a yank and discards the shirt with a flourish, hurriedly tugging the other shirt over her head. She does the pants the same way. Shucks herself out of her tight skinny jeans with surprising ease, hopping into her sweats with less than a second of bare skin to show for it.

She doesn’t even skip a beat to flop herself into bed, pulling the covers up completely to cover herself. You can see her form condensing, though, as she tucks  herself into a tight ball under there, knees to chest.

It’s kinda cute.

…

The next time she does it, it’s because she forgets to take her clothes into the bathroom after your yelling match with her. After she had  _bit_  you, so you’re perfectly justified. To be fair, you also did technically kidnap her, so…she’s perfectly justified too.

But in her whirl of anger, she had simply slammed the bathroom door, no clothes with her to actually…dress back up once she was done.

And in your process of trying to dress your neck wounds without a mirror, you end up using your webcam to see yourself. You only get to inspecting the damage when you hear her pathetic sounding “hey,” coming from the bathroom door.

You look up and she’s standing in the doorway, clutching her towel self-consciously tighter around her.

"Do you, uhh," she glances to your computer, "Are you…recording?"

Oh.

"No!" you exclaim quickly, shaking your head furiously. "I was, uhh, I was just…" You gesture to your neck with the cotton swab you’ve got between  your fingers, and maybe guilt flashes in her eyes.

"Oh."

She nods. “Okay.”

She pads through the room to the bag she had half-packed. With her free hand she fishes out a shirt, and glances to you once again. You smile a little at her, then turn your attention back to your own image in the not recording camera.

You can tell she’s struggling, though. She wouldn’t ever admit it. But you know she’s trying to pull the shirt over her head with one hand, the other one holding up her towel pointlessly.

You hear a muffled flop of what was probably the towel and a hiss of a curse.

You try not to laugh.

And when she clears her throat, you look back at her. She’s looking at you cautiously. “Thanks.” She says.

You don’t know what she’s thanking you for. But she stares at you for a few more moments, eyes flitting down to your neck.

"I-I’m sorry," she stumbles over the apology. "I just I-I didn’t…know what else to do."

You nod. “No. It’s okay.”

"I meant what I said. It…wasn’t personal."

You shouldn’t be smiling but a corner of your mouth lifts up. “I know.”

And you believe her.

She takes a few steps closer, hand extended hesitantly. “Can I…?”

You don’t know what she’s asking but you nod your head anyway. And very gently, she brushes your hair out of the way of your bite marks. She takes the cotton swab from your hand. And then she proceeds to clean everything up for you.

Neither of you speak about it again.

…

After that she gets better about it. Doesn’t rush so much. Doesn’t really look at you to make sure you’re not watching. Either she trusts that you won’t or doesn’t care if you do. You’re not sure which one you like more.

…

The last time she’s nervous is way down the road. After all that  _shit_  that you had to go through with the full moon and the dean and her  _death_.

After she works up the courage to kiss you and it really is the first time you realize that she actually was interested.

And  _man_  she’s a good kisser; you suppose it comes with all the years of practice. But of course things escalate and it gets hotter and quicker and when you realize exactly where it’s going, you aren’t nervous you’re  _excited_.

Your fingers reach for her shirt and she breaks your kiss with wide eyes.

You want to calm her down, so you smile at her with the smile you know is crooked and sink back on your mattress, weight on your elbows. “C’mon. I’m sure none of your study buddies would tell me you were skittish.”

She licks her lips, sits up a little more. You hold her gaze, expecting an answer, but she looks to the side.

"They’re not you, cutie," she says simply, low and quiet and so . She fiddles with the edge of her shirt, looking down at what her fingers are doing. "They’re just…" She shrugs. "Girls."

Your heart skips, then kicks hard in your chest. “Yeah?”

She nods, giving you that stupid toothy yet still slightly unsure smile. The timid is only in her eyes.

"Well," you say, strumming your fingers on the mattress, "then I’m sorry I crossed a line."

She bites her lip and  _jesus_  your throat closes up in a millisecond. And it’s very difficult to keep the  _totally not turned on_  facade up. I mean God she’s kneeling over you like this towering sexy goddess and you’re sitting there cracking jokes and pretending your underwear aren’t so far ruined that maybe even your pants are starting to feel some damage.

"I didn’t say that," she says with that same low voice and those  _grossly_ seductive bedroom eyes.

Even so, she looks down again, as she reaches for the top button of her shirt. And when she flicks it open you see a definite shade of pink in her cheeks. Maybe.

You don’t want to ask her why she’s so shy though. God, no. Then she might  _stop_.

She frees another button with fingers that might be shaking but you can’t tell. You’re just staring on in rapture as you see skin and more skin and the  _wonderful_  view of her cleavage. She pulls open the next button, and when you look up she’s looking at you curiously. Intently. 

You want to give her a reassuring smile but honestly you can’t find the muscles. All you end up doing is licking your  _very_  dry lips and it’s apparently enough for she undoes another button, and then another, and then shrugs herself out of the shirt so it pools by your shins.

And you want to appreciate the view but she’s kissing you and there’s not much to look at in the wall of dark curls and heavy breaths so you just  _go_ with it. It’s not like you have any idea what to do and she’s got a pretty good grasp on things.

Well, that’s an understatement.

A  _very_  good grasp on things.

And after you’ve worn yourself tired with all that  _educational_  experience, she wraps you up in those gentle arms of hers and you discover that there is nothing quite like the feeling of skin. Everywhere. Unhindered. In something so simple as cuddling, you shouldn’t be so in awe, but you’ve never felt anything like it.

She kisses your shoulder blade and you smile, letting your eyes drop closed.

"Thatwasnice," you slur sleepily.

She pulls you a little closer against her in a cuddle hug of sorts. Kisses your spine.

"My story isn’t much different, princess."

You smile. “Yeah?”

She laughs breathily. “Yeah.”

The both of you fall into silence and while normally it would’ve been a good lull in the conversation, there’s just something you can’t let lie.

"Hey Carm?" you ask quietly.

"Hmmm?" she hums, nudging your neck with her nose. It’s so distractingly cute you almost forget what you wanted to say. But the hesitant little kisses along your shoulder remind you.

"You’re uhh, you’re really beautiful. I…I don’t know what you’re so…self-conscious about."

If she could shrug while spooning you you’re sure she probably would’ve. Instead you feel her tense a little. And this time the silence is heavier. You can’t even hear her breathing and it’s honestly kind of unsettling.

"It’s…it’s just hard, Laur," she mumbles. "You can only get rejected so many times without starting to think maybe there’s something wrong."

Your brow furrows. Hard. What?

With absolutely no grace, you turn yourself over to face her. “Me?  _I’ve_ rejected you?”

She laughs, but it’s sad.

"Cutie," she says, almost in pity. "Flirting with someone and getting no response back is…really pretty ego deflating."

"Oh."

You blink.

Think of all the times you thought she was flirting with you and had brushed them off with a  _silly laura you’re imagining things_. And you realize how it might’ve seemed more of the  _ignore the flirting so you don’t have to actually tell her no_  kind of vibe.

Your stomach pangs guilt.

"Oh God I’m so sorry," you rush out, "I-I just I-"

She kisses you and you stop talking. She’s smiling at you  _genuinely_  and wow do her eyes look good not muted with sadness.

"I get it, cutie. You’re a little…naive. It’s cute. Didn’t make it any less…difficult, but still cute. I guess I should’ve…known better."

You grin, biting your lip. “And I’ll try and do better with the…flirting back thing. Because that’s a thing now, right? Or now that you’ve got your bedpost notch all flirting goes out the window and I’m just expected t-“

She covers your mouth with her hand as she rolls her eyes and you giggle against it, rolling yourself a little closer against her. “I’m only going to remove this,” she moves her hand over your mouth and you smile wider,” if you promise no more  _nonsense_  like that’s going to come out.”

You nod a few times, but another giggle slips out. She raises her eyebrows expectantly. You nod again, overly solumn.

Slowly, she pulls her hand away, and you roll yourself on top of her, kissing her once, twice, then ducking your head to bury it against her neck.

She never says love but you hear its ghost of an echo in the way she strokes your back until you fall asleep.


End file.
